


Compass

by distantgreen



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, I'm tired, Kitsune, M/M, Sirens, WHAT IS SLEEP, idk - Freeform, what are tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantgreen/pseuds/distantgreen
Summary: Four lives; four encounters; four ways to fall in love.





	1. West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For KNB Discord Team Battle.

The day is overcast and the air dense with mist, sun smothered behind an oppressive veil of grey, when the cliffs first come into view. They break through the fog as you’re sitting on the deck, carefully polishing a silver pendant with a small cloth. It’s a trinket your grandmother gave you once, the exchange so long ago that you’ve almost lost it beneath the weight of memory, but you carry the relic with you always on long sea journeys. That the fates may be merciful, she’d prayed as she folded your slender fingers around it, before you left for the first time to test their whims.

“It’ll take us nearly a week to get clear of them.”

The captain’s eyes keep flitting towards the rocks stretching out beside the ship, as if afraid of movements that might flicker across their surface only when he isn’t looking.

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air doesn’t pass.

–

On the next day, as you sit on deck and watch the fabric of the sails rippling with the day’s breeze, that which had been quietly contained breaks loose.

The ocean begins to sing.

The sound weaves through the air, notes blown against your ears by gentle gusts of wind, and it takes you one long, disoriented moment before you realize that it’s coming from the waters below. Something in you vibrates with inexplicable terror at the beauty of it, and you’re already on your feet before your thoughts catch up to the movements.

Your eyes are drawn to the blue depths surrounding the ship, and only out of the corner of your vision do you see the captain’s mate rushing towards you, yelling words – that clash so violently and so terribly with the ocean’s voice – and reaching his arms around you. One of them settles at your waist, grip vice-like even as it trembles against you, while the other shoves something strange and cold into your ears until the singing vanishes, leaving only blue water and silence. And so it is that the rest of the day becomes a void.

–

You wake up in the dead of night, hands trembling and body drenched in a cold sweat, although you don’t remember any dream to serve as a prelude to the incident. All you want is fresh air, salt in your lungs, so you slide out from under the covers as your eyes sweep over the room. The beeswax, familiar to you now, sits on your nightstand next to the pendant, so you fill your ears and head above deck.

Only the night’s watch is present outside, the first mate and another companion taking turns minding the ship’s path past the rocks. The captain had refused to moor at night, insisting that the rocky coast be passed in as little time as possible, so you settled into a rotation between the four of you to keep the ship on course day and night. Even so, it’s tiring to sail without rest, and you can already feel the strain that’s beginning to seethe like some dangerous serpent under everyone’s skin.

You wander towards the edge of the ship to look over the railing, and the silence in the darkness seems somehow even deeper than what you recall from the daytime, even though you know that with your ears plugged, there is nothing to distinguish it. The wood seems rough beneath your hands as you trail them along its surface, peering over it into the waters.

The surface is black, a living abyss that drags against the sides of the ship as it cuts through, broken only by the stars reflected in its surface. The night is cloudless and their images are bright and clear, although distorted by the movements of the waves. Something in you urges you towards them, a want to run your hands through the water and scoop them up, velvet and sparkling light to pull towards your chest and hold.

You catch yourself and your hands still, just millimeters above the railing, and you resume your grip on the wood with an even firmer hold. The waters seem to notice the aborted movement and laugh in response, stars twinkling merrily beneath your startled eyes as a face emerges from the surface and rises above the water.

Pale skin catches the light from the stars, broken by a pair of eyes that match the moon’s silver with their own. A flash of a grin – pearls bared under the night light – and the face laughs up at you with a sound that goes unheard. Long black hair trails through the waters, looking even smoother and softer than the waves that caress it, as the body swims beside the ship, easily keeping pace with its movements. Your eyes squint into the depths, but you can’t make out more than head and shoulders and the sweeping strands of darkness that seem to melt away into the ocean.

A touch on your shoulder startles you, and you turn to see the captain’s mate eying you warily. Something in your face must still carry the traces of enchantment, because the expression rapidly turns to concern, and he leans over the edge to take a glimpse into the ocean.

Your gaze follows, too, but the surface is already blank, the laughter gone and the stars silent.

–

The daytime becomes darker than before, malicious clouds threatening a storm that yet refuses to come, leaving everyone on edge over what may strike at any moment.

“We shouldn’t have come this way.”

Your voice cracks, sounds crumbling, ash scattering among currents of wind, and the captain averts his gaze from your eyes.

–

The storm comes in the night, during your shift on deck, and it has to be the fiercest you’ve encountered in all of your years at sea. Everyone is awake and about, struggling to control the ship’s swaying beneath the merciless winds. Your thoughts should be focused on the demands of helping, but somewhere in trying to read the first mate’s lips through the sheets of wind and water, your attention detaches, drifting instead to the waters churning violently around the ship.

Something sparkles beneath the depths, and the beeswax doesn’t suppress the growing ringing in your ears.

There is a sudden lurch again, throwing you against the rail, and you clutch the damp wood while your eyes desperately search the beckoning waves below. In the blink of an eye, something slips inexplicably, and everything is cold and wet and dark, the waters seizing you, swelling victoriously at their prize. The ship and your fellow crew become nothing, leaving only you and the ocean and the occasional thump of the pendant against your chest as the waves carry you away.

–

The fates were not your allies today, you think through the haze of night and rhythm and water mixed with air. Your thoughts can’t cohere enough to understand that somehow you still breathe, head occasionally breaking through the surface. The beeswax is long gone, and you can hear and feel every movement of the waves lapping against your body.

It takes until dawn for you to realize that it’s the singing that’s keeping you afloat.

–

You’re tossed up on a foreign shore after sunrise, the water around you becoming warm arms that disentangle themselves as you collapse against the sand. Every ounce of body is too tired to move, so you lie still on your back, turning your head to face the ocean’s countenance beside you.

A torso extends from the surf, smooth and pale beneath the sunlight, sprawling black hair in sharp contrast against the gently shimmering body. He rests on his elbows, silver eyes watching your face carefully while a long, thick tail splashes idly against the water, luminescent green scales catching the light with every movement. You allow yourself to study it for a while, mesmerized by the fluidity of its motions even as it cuts through air rather than water, a spray of droplets rising every time it falls into the waves.

Curious; beautiful; a flurry of words come to mind, and you look back at the clever eyes that peer intently at you from a frame of sharp features. So strange that you ended up here, after all these years, out of all possible places, and the creature cocks his head slightly as you ponder him.

 _What do you know of the fates_ , his amused gaze seems to ask you.

You scowl in response, your grandmother’s gift cold against your skin.

_Why did you save me?_

You didn’t ask; you don’t want to be indebted.

An arm reaches slowly towards you, trailing water and secrets with its movements, and one finger brushes against your salt-crusted lips. You dare not taste them, out of fear that with the gesture you might also taste _him_ , sealing with that action whatever pact it is that the ocean wills between you. It’s a spell that might be broken with words, but your throat is too dry and the air too hot, so you just watch helplessly as the moonlit gaze washes over you.

There’s a grin, even more striking now in the light of day, and you give a defeated sigh as a sleek hand trails along your arm to twine its fingers with your own.

You return the gesture with as much strength as you can muster given the circumstances, and the smile transforms into a dazzling song that swells triumphantly into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ???
> 
> *flops*


	2. North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For KNB Discord Team Battle.

“You're in charge of the castle, Kazunari.”

His voice is stern – always; you don't remember a time when it wasn't – but something softer sleeps beneath the granite of his eyes as they watch the nodding movement of your head.

“Take care of your mother.”

You nod again, wordless, because you both know there is very little left to take care of. The candles scattered throughout the room whisper urgently in the gust of wind that blows in through the open window, your father’s image momentarily flickering out of existence as the light falters.

The voice continues without a face. “I'm leaving a small host of men here for security, but the bulk of the army will travel with me.”

A mechanical motion of agreement, and your father reappears just in time to hastily exit your chamber, leaving you sitting alone on the floor.

There's a single hawk feather pinned above your door, and you close your eyes and bow your head, because of course _he_ will be gone by dawn, too. The wind hits your room again, and you run your hands along your bare arms, dragging over the fresh goosebumps.

The air grows colder by the day.

–

_You lose track of time so easily, watching him fletch arrows by the light of his lamp, green eyes and green hair too prominent in the otherwise dim room._

“ _Do you always supervise your father’s archers?”_

_You sigh, a loud exhale that echoes through your body and the room, and roll against your pile of cushions; the sound of the breath fades away and blends into the rustling of fabric. The folds of your kimono, elaborate and ceremonial, are splayed across the floor, a carpet of flowers and color._

“ _There's elsewhere I’d rather not be.”_

“ _That's a bit irresponsible, My Lord.”_

“ _Don't,” you huff, the field of fabric stirring as you roll over again. “It's exhausting.”_

_He doesn't respond, setting aside a completed arrow and reaching for fresh materials._

“ _Shintarou,” you say suddenly, an experimental sound released into the warm, stagnant night, and he fumbles a feather. You watch as he carefully recovers it from where it’s fallen on the floor, returning to his work._

“ _You have beautiful hands.”_

_The words that follow are almost lost to the depths of half-sleep as you drift off against the pillows._

_“Thank you.”_

–

It snows every day after your father leaves. The grounds are perpetually white, painful to the eyes every time you dare to look outside the castle’s windows. The nights freeze the blood in your veins, even beneath your wealth of blankets, and you wander the hallways wrapped tightly in a fur cloak that does nothing to keep the cold away.

Your mother slumbers, both in waking and in sleeping, and you visit her chamber daily even though there is little for you to see.

“Kazunari,” she whispers, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as you stand in the doorway, watching her frail hands grasp at the bedcovers. They are the first words she’s spoken since the snow fell.

“The fire devours us.”

You turn your back to her and storm outside for the first time in weeks.

–

_The whispers spread through the court like fire, when he first arrives._

_A foreigner._

_A stranger, with strange hair and strange eyes._

_He should not be accepted, but he is nonetheless, because your father decides to tolerate him and his skills are far too valuable to pass up. If he is declined work here, he will go to another lord – a rival – and that, too, is threatening, even if a strange creature beneath your roof is also grounds for discomfort._

_You stand at the castle windows that overlook the courtyard, watching him practice with his bow during the afternoons. A single target is fixed to a post, arrow after arrow landing impeccably in its center._

_He never tires._

–

The snow is thick beneath your feet, and cold against your bare skin, because you won’t bother with shoes anymore. You ignore it, and you ignore the way your breath crystallizes in the cold air, the ice in your lungs all too familiar to you now. There is an old tree that stretches into the sky behind the north face of the castle, limbs reaching desperately into the gray void above, and you wander towards it, the grounds around you barren and silent. Its branches are heavy with white, sagging beneath the weight of winter, the heavens just barely out of their reach.

You glance behind you at the path of footprints and the marks of fabric dragging through snow, and when you turn back, a white fox sits at the base of the tree, its twin tails flicking absently and its dark eyes inscrutable.

There are no foxes in this part of the land, but you sit in the snow across from it anyway, and the hours pass as you watch the movements of its tails. Your body must grow colder, surely, but you cannot tell the difference.

The sun begins to set below the horizon, and the fox issues a query.

“What are you waiting for?”

Its mouth doesn’t move, but the question is clear in your mind, and the response comes without thought.

“Spring.”

The word falls from your lips sluggishly, like the long drip of an icicle, and time slows to a grind beneath the fox’s gaze, your mind becoming blank and numb.

“Greedy,” the fox chastizes.

Your brain quickly sheds its stupor, and you stand, the setting sun painting the tree and the fox with blood. You let the cloak slide from your shoulders, dropping it carelessly into the snow, and the fox rises to follow you. He treads across the fallen garment, pausing to drag a claw through the pristine fox fur from which it was made.

“Honestly,” he says, trotting a small circle around you as you walk. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

–

The fox refuses to enter the castle building, so you wander out to meet him from time to time, sitting together beside the tree that no longer changes. Perhaps you should be concerned, sitting beneath its overloaded branches, that one day the snow might become too much and all of that whiteness might fall upon your back and crush you, but such a shift seems too impossible in the frozen air.

You sneeze, once, the noise loud and unwelcome in the silence. The fox stirs in response and trots over to you, placing his front paws into your lap, his face mere centimeters from your own. The breath that escapes from his mouth into the air smells like nothing at all.

He isn’t smiling visibly, but you can sense his amusement.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice tired and bored.

“Bread,” he answers quickly.

“Bread.”

“You may leave it beside the tree.”

There have never been foxes in these parts, so you leave the bread beside the tree trunk, just as instructed.

The next day, the fox is nowhere to be found.

–

Your mother passes away one night, and you are told the next morning, a messenger rushing breathlessly into your room. He seems distraught, but the news is meaningless; you dress yourself mechanically, the layers nothing but a farce for the others. The winter has become far too cold for you to feel anything, even as they bury her beneath the soil and ice.

–

Even in the fox’s absence, you find yourself sitting beside the tree every day nonetheless, its branches still looming overhead, their white burden untouched. There is a fresh cloak around your shoulders, because your retainer had insisted; the first had been lost beneath the endless drifts of snow.

Your gaze wanders mindlessly along the castle walls, waiting for the fires that your mother promised you to arrive and set your body aflame, because surely there is no longer any chance of spring, when you see movement by the gate. Two figures pass through, two men bundled up tightly against the cold, their heads and faces covered by thick swathes of fabric.

One of them stops just inside the gate, head snapping to your direction, and even at this distance you can see the familiar glint in the dark eyes.

You open your mouth to speak and your lungs seize up in response, frozen shards coughed up into the winter air as you double over, hands clutching at your chest, but the voice in your mind quickly halts your attempt.

“Let it be.”

When you look up again, the fox is gone, and a lone figure is left striding slowly towards the tree. He pulls a hood from his head as he walks, revealing the tousled green hair, and you can feel the ice forming at the corners of your eyes. You close them as he arrives and kneels in the snow before you, which is already starting to melt, pooling around his feet and knees.

His hands run hesitantly along your body; he can feel the ice even through the fabric of your clothes, the unyielding mass of flesh that sits like a cold statue on the ground. He halts one hand over your heart, and you feel the sigh of relief against your face as he feels the telltale rhythm of it in spite of your frozen veins.

“We should leave,” he whispers. Something wet falls onto your face, and you finally open your eyes again to see the tree above you weeping, water dripping around you with increasing frequency.

“Okay.”

The word hurts, but the pain in your throat eases as a warm hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just hard enough to get the blood flowing again.

“Okay,” you say again, pressing your lips against the warm fingers that hover anxiously near your face. His eyes are empty of snow, just green grass sprouting vibrantly beneath the sun when he smiles, and you twine your hands together as the world around you melts away.


End file.
